


the most angelic among humans, the most human among angels

by viole



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Cute Castiel, Cute Dean Winchester, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Mush, Fluff and Smut, Fluff without Plot, Heaven, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-01-05 14:03:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12191352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viole/pseuds/viole
Summary: If you think you’ve read fluff, wait until you’ve read this ^^No plot, just happiness and peace. I went all out here. Also, the titles of my fanfics seem to become longer and longer xDSort-of AU, but professions and bios are not changed, so it could be actually part of the original series if it was one of these no-memory filler episodes. Or something that happened before Dean and Cas met on Earth - they met in heaven first!Setting and bits of the storyline inspired by “The Time Machine” by H. G. Wells.





	1. Chapter 1

And then Dean is in heaven.

It is not the usual kind of heaven he dreams about. Alright, there are hills, but they are not made of bacon burgers and loose women.

He is sitting on lush grass surrounded by flowery bushes and in front of him he sees an endless meadow. Dean watches the scene for a while as time stretches longer and longer without looking at anything in particular, without thinking a thought at all and without a particular sensation, except the feeling of waiting for something pleasant.

Above the meadow white pillars seem to grow out of clouds. They float into the air with ease and fit beautifully into the sky. The pillars carry platforms and stairs. He can see figures carved into the marble, into the ceiling of the floating rooms.

He is quite sure he is not dead, and he believes this is not a dream.

This doesn't look like the work of the Trickster either: his illusions are a lot more thrill-packed, fast-paced and somewhat on the dirty side. One thing is certain: In a place that lacks about all the things Dean finds entertaining, he wants to stay.  


The meadows is scattered with little groups of angels, and if Dean looks closer, there are some on the clouds too. There are many of them, but the place is nevertheless very peaceful and quiet. Dean can hear them chatting and laughing in the distance and he cannot make out a single tone of argument or disharmony. Their clothing seems different for each one. Dean sees many cloak-like coats and ornamented sheets, wrapped very carefully and tastefully.

Time does not seem to matter, he stands up and wanders around aimlessly and cannot say how many hours have passed.

He is surprised when the sun sets and night falls: but the night is just as beautiful, with the tiny lights of stars and sounds awakening around him. The rooms with the pillars fill up with more angels, gathering around fires or light sources – he can’t figure out what exactly, because he does not know how to climb on a platform in the first night.

He leans back on a hill and looks up at the stars arranged in unknown formations and large clouds floating by.

Some angels fly too, but always very slowly, and most seem to prefer going on their feet. They are sweet creatures with soothing and gentle voices. The language they are speaking sounds different from human language, but if he listens in, by some strange reason he can understand perfectly what they are saying, though he will rarely remember it later. The tone and the pitch of voices not directed at him make him still feel welcome. He gives up pretty soon on trying to define their gender. He is clearly not an expert on angels, and they are all very lovely. He wonders what he could do to blend in somehow, partake in whatever they are doing or how they interact with each other.

Dean cannot tell whether he has slept or not. The sunrise warms the air after the cool night breeze. He takes off his jacket and leaves it behind on the hill as he goes for a walk.

He finds out how to get on the platforms when he notices how low one of them is flying: from a hill he jumps and grabs the ledge, or rather the set of few stairs surrounding it, then pulls himself up into the open room. No one comes to his help, and no one laughs when he straightens himself up, panting from the effort and excitement. 

He is standing on a marble floor with a balustrade between the pillars and with white reliefs on the ceiling. In the corners there are piles of cushions, some angels are still dozing on them as the platform slowly rises towards the sun.

Two angels seem to be mock-fighting, laughing and playing rough. Others are watching or talking without paying attention to them. One angel is sitting on the balustrade, knotting a sash on his robe, very focused and absorbed with his work. Dean is barely aware that he is smiling, just because the angel is looking so dedicated and busy with something simple and seemingly unimportant. Regardless of the apparent effort and concern about his clothing, he looks somewhat scruffy, with the cutest messy tufts of hair on his head and with his shoulders and chest loosely and asymmetrically wrapped in a disarranged light beige robe.

All the things that look so neat and polished on the other angels are different on him. It seems that nothing has tampered with his appearance since he woke up in the morning, or maybe, since he hatched out of his egg as a baby angel. 

Suddenly all the others seem blurred and fake and he is the only one who twinkles against the cobalt sky, unchanged and naturally mesmerizing. Dean enjoys the sweetness and warmth of his crush, not daring even to think of talking to him and mess about with the sight. There is not a thing he wants to change about this moment.

He doesn’t see what exactly happens, but the corner of his eye catches one of the fighting angels losing his grip on the other one and being sent across the platform right into the balustrade. The cute sitting one is hit, loses his balance and drops out of sight.

Instantly Dean runs and jumps over the same barrier into thin air before realizing what he is doing. 

He has clearly underestimated the speed of the platform, because he is falling into the rising sun. The height is astronomical. Out of the corner of his eyes he can see stars. He nosedives through fine-woven clouds.

The cute angel is nowhere to be seen.

 _He can fly, you idjit,_ says someone inside his head. _What did you try to save him from? Drowning?_

He focuses on anything that could change his situation for the better before he will have to listen to more statements from Bobby’s Voice of Reason.

There are fewer clouds now, which means he can see the ground coming right at him. Still no one in sight. He remembers Bobby’s comment and takes a quick look upwards. And there he is, wings spread properly, dive-flying after Dean, eyes fixed on him with the most curious expression.

“Help me, man!” Dean yells. But the angel doesn’t take his hand. He continues flying after him, matching his speed, watching him with wide, beautiful eyes. “You want to let me die?”

“You are not going to die,” the angel explains. The sound of his words is half scattered by the wind. Dean is trembling with panic; maybe the guy hasn’t a clue that he is not an angel himself and cannot fly like the others.

Then Dean notices how he is slowing down as the ground comes closer. Soon he is practically floating, and has plenty of time to stop his legs from flailing while landing with wobbly knees.

Immediately he loses his balance and falls on his face. But he decides he can sit on the grass for a while.

Of course he isn’t going to die.

“Why did you jump after me?” the angel asks, tilting his head a little.

Dean reaches for the back of his head.

“It seemed the right thing to do,” he shrugs. ”It’s... uh, I dunno. Habit? I can see how stupid it is, now.”

“It is not stupid,” the angel says with a casual certainty. “Just… uncommon.”

The angel offers him a hand and Dean pulls himself up. He’s a little shorter than Dean, the size that would perfectly fit snuggled against his shoulder. Which is a perfectly normal thought.

“I was worried that you’d get hurt.”

“No one can get hurt here.”

“Really,” Dean says. “Uh. It just happened so fast and I didn’t have time to think.”

He takes a breath. Him and one cute angel fell out of the sky and no one got hurt, this is really new. And no one can get hurt here, that is even better. 

“I’m Dean,” he says. He knows nothing about the customs but shaking hands seems a bit too formal, and hugging, while he would like to, seems a bit too forward.

“My name is Castiel,” the angel simply says.

“Will you, er… Can you maybe show me around?” Dean asks. “I’ve been here only for a couple of days… I think. And I like it very much, but I’m a bit lost.”

“Of course. It is my pleasure to show you my home.”

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	2. Chapter 2

Dean spends the day following Castiel. The meadows are still as lush and green as they were this morning, but while they seemed plain and equal as an endless blanket, all of a sudden Dean is seeing more details and peculiarities now as they are walking together. He is losing track of time fast, while the angel points out details in the scenery, what platforms are used for which purpose; he gives Dean an overview on clothing and tells him how little the role is that angel ranks play here.

"Where were you before?" Castiel asks. Dean doesn't immediately know whether he is asking where he was before _geographically_ , other than here, or whether he wants to know why it took him so long to arrive.

"Um, Earth? Unless you have an extra name for the place," Dean is not sure where to begin explaining." I'm... I'm human, so I'm here for the first time," he says haphazardly. Noticing Cas' face, he adds. "What, have you never seen a human before? Look, no wings." 

"A lot of us have different forms." Castiel explains. "I have seen humans before, just never talked to one. I guessed you are different because you tried to save me."

"That’s not a thing angels would do?"

"We certainly help each other. But in a very different fashion."

Dean grins. "Like, more effectively? And not looking like complete idiots, maybe? "

"I wouldn’t say it was ineffective what you did. It had an effect. I thought it was… fascinating." 

Dean is glad the guy isn't freaking out, or worse, telling him he has to leave.

"I thought I did stand out more than that."

"Not at all. I saw you on the platform and thought you were one of us."

"Why thank you," Dean smiles, his chest filled both with honest confidence and boyish cockiness. Castiel patiently observes his reactions.

Dean still feels hopelessly underdressed in his grey shirt and jeans. There is no reason to think about clothes now, but he does. And despite his momentary calmness, he knows his mind has always been a mess as well. Yet among those clean, beautiful and serene creatures who Dean can barely tell apart from each other, there is one who is making him feel welcome, for deactivating all his reason and common sense in a blink, for seeming to accept him no matter what he's been doing all his life on earth, who is reminding him of what he could be. 

They find an empty platform and lie down together in one of the corners, on sky blue sheets and pillows, which look like a small heavenly pool in itself, striking against Castiel's dark hair. Dean is very tired, he knows somehow that he will be the first one to take a nap, and that Castiel will be watching him for a while with his wide-eyed glare. But he doesn’t mind. 

***

Dean wakes to Castiel watching him. He smiles and turns his head away for a moment, to collect his thoughts.

"I like your face," Castiel says. Not to explain or apologize for his utterly shameless curiosity, just as a fact. "It's always moving, your expressions change like the sky."

Dean is warm with flusterment, wonders if he should tell Castiel what he thinks about his face, but he just stares back, grinning, trying not to make faces on purpose, though he would love to make Castiel laugh.

"I have heard good things about it," Dean answers. "though it's never been appreciated by an angel before."  


He wonders if someone has been with Castiel like this before and there is protest and objection inside him, fierce jealousy clouding his sight. He can't imagine how long Cas has been alive, but it doesn't matter. Dean is here now, and his wish that Castiel has been waiting for him, ridiculous and insane as it may be, is real.

"Is it seen as a thing of great value to be an angel in the world of humans?"

"F... you bet it is. People say someone's an angel when they're really kind, pretty or cute. It's used as a nickname for a lover, family members, your kid. You call someone angel when you love them very much, or when they've done something amazing to help you. Actually," Dean finds it increasingly amusing to explain all of this to Castiel. "You would definitely call someone an angel if they took a leap off a platform to save you from falling down." 

Castiel's head twitches an inch to one side. "But that was the moment I realized you were not from here."

"Yeah," Dean laughs. "Ain't that funny?"

Castiel seems to be thinking about it very hard. Then his hand is suddenly on Deans stomach.

"Dean," he says, in a voice much more deep and solemn than the situation asks for. "Will you stay with me?"

"Huh?"

"You said you wanted to see the whole place. Maybe you will be looking for another companion soon."

"Why would I do that?" Dean is very aware of the hand on his body and he finds it quite distracting. He also doesn't want Cas to remove it. "I asked you to be my guide."

Castiel seems to relax. He pulls his arm away, placing it next to Dean's shoulder, barely touching him. 

"I have heard that human lives are rather short," Castiel explains dryly. "Maybe it is their customs to change companions on a short basis."

"Whoa," Dean's eyebrows shoot upwards and he raises his hands on defense. "No need to get jea... You guys can get jealous? Forget that. Listen... Cas, among humans it is seen as a thing of great value to partner with someone for long when you really love them."

"Oh, - Castiel says - Has it been working out for you this way?"

Dean bites his lip. "Nope. Quite the opposite. But I haven't given up hope yet."

Castiel blinks again as he probably puts his imagination to test with no knowledge or experience to use whatsoever. So far, the attempts of Dean to make him smile have failed miserably. What do angels find funny? He has seen others laugh - never at someone - and be in a generally good mood. Why does this one have to be so serious? And why does his seriousness make Dean fluttery and desperate, giddy and happy with excitement?  


"It's what I do. My job," Dean explains. "I hunt monsters, they look for people close to me to hurt them. I can't have a partner, they'd be constantly in danger. It's bad enough with my little brother when he gets kidnapped."

"I am very sorry to hear that. I hope he is alright."

"No, no. He's not really "little". He is a hunter too. I'm just the better one."

Dean gives up. The idea of irony doesn't seem to exist in heaven. Or in Castiel's mind. Of course, given it thought, irony is a nasty thing. But Dean is so good at it. He has practiced it forever. It would be a shame not to use it to brighten up Castiel's mood a little.

"I am still sorry that you cannot have a partner for life because your job is dangerous," Castiel says. "Would you be consider being partners with someone who cannot get hurt?"

Dean shrugs. "Well, sure. But one thing you learn on the job is that everyone can get hurt."

"I'm glad you're here," Castiel says. "And I think I understand why you jumped after me." He blushes suddenly and Dean finds himself drawn to Castiel's lips. He realizes what he is doing and has a moment of fear, he hesitates and immediately regrets his hesitation. But Castiel is not well versed in the ways of human uncertainty and never notices the silly behaviour.

"It's my job," Dean says. "I help people, no matter what happens to me," He smirks. "I'm a real angel."

Castiel's face is concerned for another while, and then he suddenly, irresistably smiles. It is just a gentle, light beam on his face, but Dean sees it and it makes all the difference, like weather turning. Dean is ashamed at his former attempts, they seem quite ridiculous in the beautiful sight of the desired result, and he can barely look at the angel. Maybe he is smiling because he is thinking of something else altogether.

"Well, hello there," Dean says. He might as well keep going. "Thought you were immune to my charms."

"You are very charming," Castiel answers. He is most certainly not flirting, not with that deep voice of his, the tone lacking any kind of finesse and softness. There are no intentions attached to that blunt yet sweet statement. He would never fear to speak out his mind or ask himself how others would react if he did. "Since I met you, I have been unable to be interested in anything other than you. It is a very peculiar experience."

Castiel looks feeble and soft, so very harmless, untouched by any human vileness, he probably can't even imagine the place Dean has been living all his life. Dean easily forgets how powerful he is and where they are. He knows now that nothing can happen to him here. But if he saw Cas again dropping from the balustrade, he would jump after him again.

His lips do look really very nice. Thick and smooth like pink marshmallows.

This may be not be a dream, but it feels like one; a situation stripped of all restrictions, where Dean doesn’t care what he is supposed to be doing and just follows his instinct. There is no pressure, no duty. No one will be holding him responsible for whatever he does here. No one has to know. 

It’s been ages since he had time to think for himself, with no Sam to look after or worry about, with no cases, no monsters on his heels. He always wondered what he would do if he was free. Would he feel empty? Who he would be with? 

This is like a dream, he thinks. No one has to know. No nosy brother around to make fun of him for having a crush on a cute angel boy. No monsters threatening his or his new friend’s life. Everything around him is quiet, like a perfect invitation to do something stupid.

He kisses Castiel, the contact being as warm and cozy as laying beside him. The mood does not change much. Cas acts awkwardly, in the most wonderful way possible. His lips are irresistible, and Dean can’t stay away from them for long.

At some point, they keep staring at each other. Castiel’s hand squeezes the pillow gently, his face sinking a tiny bit into the fabric and out of Dean’s sight. He seems flustered, and Dean bites his lip to resist kissing him again, so he can watch him some more.

If there’s anything more irresistible about Cas than his lips, it’s his eyes; they are deeper in blue than any shade of the sky and they are hypnotizing, even when they linger around in slight confusion – oh, especially in slight confusion. 

Not that Dean is feeling less awkward. He knows nothing about how to court a man, much less an angel and even less this particular one. But he feels his own face is one single smile and he’s never been this happy being clueless. He does not want to know; he does not want to be experienced about this, he doesn’t want to be a single step ahead of Cas, just eye to eye with him, being able to take his hand whenever he wants.

"I take it you…" Cas hesitates. His voice is a tad softer than a while before. "You want to be my… partner?"

"H… yes. I do." Partner. It sounds so innocent when Castiel says it, as if they’d be working together, or going on a mission. Yet it leaves so many possibilities open. 

"With benefits." Dean adds, grinning, just because Cas is way too much fun to tease. 

"I accept you." Castiel says, all bright and curious eyes. "And the benefits, though I am not sure what you mean by them." 

"Oh, I’m glad you do," Dean says "And I can show you."

They kiss once more, becoming both bolder and accustomed to each other. Dean pulls Castiel closer and feels the warm body, listens to the feathers rustling in slight agitation, like a raised heartbeat. 

The platform is still empty, but it seems to be landing. A cloud floats by and they hear voices, and though no one seems to have noticed, Dean coughs. 

"There any place with a little more privacy?"

"Oh, I forgot about that," Castiel says, his eyes still blinking like in a half dream. "I am anything but finished showing you the place."

He sits up and Dean’s eyes are attached to the way his robe slides from his body. Well, he’s an angel, and they’re supposed to wear loose drapes, aren’t they? Too loose drapes. Dean is light-headed as they leave the platform to step on the fresh morning grass. Castiel is still wearing his night clothes and bare feet, and Dean takes a mental note to have a closer look at his feet whenever possible. 

"Why do you think I was brought here?" Dean asks. "Do you think I am... y'know, dead?"  
"That is not possible, as this is not the place for human souls," Castiel explains. "This is where angels live." 

"So, someone decide I needed a vacation or something?"

"I could seek revelation for your answer if you wish." Castiel suggests. Dean is not particularly religious, but he has the feeling he should probably not be turned on by something that he doesn't even know what it is, but certainly sounds very sacred. 

"Isn't that reserved for important questions?"

"How can you coming here not be important?"

Dean scratches his ear. "Yeah, well, maybe I don't want to poke around it too much, in case whoever brought me here is reminded that I have to go back."

Cas has that hopeful look again, mixed with the worried forehead. 

"Yes," Dean answers the question Cas did not ask out loud. "I would like to stay here for a while."


End file.
